Chapter Six:

Growing pains

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Sam felt the pull again nine months after it'd stopped. He could have sworn it had originally come from one direction, where the sun rose, but... that must not have been right because now it was a bit more to the left of it. No matter. He grinned at the idea that he could use that strange pull again when he hunts just like last time. He kinda remembers how helpful it was.

Sam started to wonder if it was just a sign of maturity for Merpeople. Growing into his internal navigation. He never heard anything quite like this tugging feeling from his parents or Dean before they died... at least, he's pretty sure he didn't. But, that didn't mean that they didn't experience it as well. It probably just meant that they died before they could tell him about it. Or were waiting for him to become of age. Sam grinned to himself. Becoming a Merman.

That night, Sam woke up with a start from a nightmare he was having. Remembering Dean's terrified face so clearly as he sank into the deeps, being consumed by fish and sharks. He wept hard that dark, depressing night when he added up all the months and realized that he was older than Dean was when he died. Not just larger than his older brother, but older now too. If Dean was alive again right now, Sam would be the big brother. That thought haunted him for the next few days. That pull ever present and reminding him on a daily basis now that he's older than Dean. His head kept on repeating the thoughts in different ways since he didn't really have anything else to distract him.

He'd grown more mature than his strong brother. Dean never had to face the wide ocean alone. Had to kill sharks on a near daily basis. Or to craft new weapons just to catch his food that liked to hide in tiny cracks and caves. Sam's life now was harder than his brother's ever had been. If only because he was doing it without anyone else around to help or to even just to talk to.

Sam longed for other Mers more that night than the ones previous. Feeling more alone every day. The pull was a constant feeling in his gut and he wondered if it will go away again after a week like last time. At least it's kind of keeping him company on this long swim. The dead fish in his bags weren't providing much in the way off commentary. He hummed to himself a few songs that he remembered from when he was little. Repeating them on a loop so he doesn't forget.

Dean's new life started much the same as the last one but this time he didn't hurt near as much. His skin was dry again and very uncomfortable, but at least his stomach aches were limited to just the lack of food, and that was fixed right away when his mother angled his face towards those round things on her chest. Dean suckled at them tentatively, vaguely remembering how it had helped ease some of the pain before, and was surprised at the sense of calm that settled around him. Letting his body take over the actions.

Dean couldn't see very well at all, but he sensed that she was smiling warmly at him and petting his head and hands as he drank till he was overfull. He was suddenly hoisted up over her shoulder and felt his back being patted harshly.

He had a moment of panic at the sensations, knowing that those moves were surely going to hurt his back fin but he felt nothing there. The pats continued and he felt something move up from his stomach towards his throat and fought it back down. Whining and starting to cry at the battle between the pats on his back and that foreign bloated feeling in his gut. He didn't have to understand the words to know that his mother was urging him to let it happen and suddenly out came a burst of air from his stomach along with a small dribble of the white liquid. His mother congratulated him and brought him back down to rest on her chest again. Wiping off his mouth with something soft and rocking him gently.

Dean listened to the all new set of voices around him and absently noted to himself that they sounded different. A different language altogether? His mother repeated the word 'Ina' at him and he quickly deduced that was the word for Mama. Huh. Ok. At least now he's got someone willing to teach him the important stuff instead of just poking and prodding him like the last time.

Over the weeks he'd picked up more and more of the language as Ina and the family talked around him. He picked up that his name was Dowan, because he sounded like he was singing when he was crying. Dean spent a long time trying to get used to the name. It never felt right though.

He was just so thrilled that he felt very little pain, and hoped that that meant that he could focus easier. His eyes were blurry, but he made out the face of his new mama and blinked at her light brown skin. She made shushing sounds at his confused whines and he settled back down, drinking the white liquid. He felt safe here, loved. Even if he only just met these people, he felt connected to them. His mind still trying to recall why he thought the things he did. Sure that the other beings wouldn't be so disjointed from their bodies like he is of his own body.

Dean was so very confused... but warm, and he let himself be lulled into a dozing slumber.

The biggest shock came when Mama lifted him up suddenly and brought him to his own soft nest that was made of that same material that he'd felt her wearing. She unraveled his own modest coverings to reveal his lower half and his two tails.

Dean couldn't believe what he was looking at. He sort of remembers the other time before, feeling constricted in that wide white material, and in such intense pain that he never really had the brain power to do a full study of his own body. Now since he felt no pain, he had the wherewithal to really take a good look. It worried him and he whined pitifully. He wanted his tail back, his back fin, he wanted to swim in the water again. His hands barely obeyed what he wanted them to do but he got them to hit the two tails in dismay, grunting and whining that it wasn't fair. He startled when his tails began to move like he'd seen crabs do back home when they're on their backs. Staring in shock at how they bent backwards in the middle then forwards towards the end. Dean scowled at them. He'd be a terrible swimmer with these things.

His Mama lifted up each pudgy tail and wiggled them happily at his scowling face. He felt every one of her fingers on each tail and was soon entranced at how the sensations were lining up to what he was seeing. His Mama kept on talking to him in soft coo's and happy sounds as her hands trailed down his tails to the rounded fins at the bottom. Five on each tail. Each one stubby and bending strangely. Almost like... fingers. But... fingers at the end of the tails.

He watched as her hands very gently engulfed the ends of his two tails and wiggled them about all while she sang a happy little song. She repeated a few words as she fiddled with the tails and he soon learned that they were called legs, and the parts at the end were called feetsies. She moved on to the short stubby fins and called them toesies. Dean wanted to learn more about his own body but she just covered him back up again after wiping off his middle section and wrapping it up in white material called a diaper.

It was amazing to him how much more he was learning this time, now that he wasn't in such intense pain. Her soft brown eyes and medium brown skin matched his own as well as the few others that came by the next few days to see him. No one was any other color besides the brown and sand toned, and he wondered if he'd ever see anyone with blue, or green, skin and scales again.

A jolt went through him when he remembered the reason why he was thinking these things. He had a life very different from this before. A family. His mother and father, a little brother. He had to get back to them!

He struggled with the material he was wrapped up in and started to cry when nothing was working. His new mother hushed him and brought him back up for cuddling but he wasn't having it. Dean needed to go back to his first home. Needed to take care of his little brother. Needed to return to the ocean, not sit here in this soft nest with useless 'legs' and 'feetsies'.

He cried for hours from frustration. No one was understanding him at all. His mouth refused to work right. He couldn't click, whistle, or even speak, let alone speaking like they do. When he finally got his own hand into his mouth on purpose, to try and figure out why, he didn't even feel any sharp teeth. It was all useless gums. He sighed angrily at being so helpless.

His mother changed his 'clothes' again and kept on talking to the others in the room. He was suddenly passed around to the others that sat in a wide circle, and felt fear shoot down his spine at the new stranger in front of him. He fussed and complained but they kept on cooing loudly in his face as they pinched his cheeks and toyed with his claw-less hands. Everyone repeating his new name, Dowan, like it was supposed to mean something to him. He was passed around again, and again, until it grew late in the day and he was finally allowed to go to bed. His crying and fighting finally winning him a break from all the attention. Mama's solution was more of the chest liquid and he was just too tired to fight any more tonight.

All in all, he figured it could be worse, but, he missed his home. Missed his real parents and especially his little brother. He couldn't remember what happened though. Why he was here and not there. He hoped it would be clearer in the morning.

It wasn't.

Days and soon months pass in much the same way as the others, and Dowan was growing slowly into a young boy. Life here wasn't easy, but, at least he had food when he asked for it, homemade toys he could play with, and friends he had made in the crowded camp. Learning how to live in this new world was tough. For some reason, light skinned people he met treated him differently than they treated other light skinned people. Called him names like injun, muck, and savage. Dowan repeated them at home to have the weird words explained to him, and got a spanking for it. That wasn't fair at all.

He didn't understand what the big deal was in skin colors. He learned that the light sand colored people were 'white' and he was 'red'. Which, well, didn't fit either color description very well. He'd say, sand and clay, but, his friends just laughed at that and he dared them to come up with better.

Thinking about skin colors jogged a half forgotten memory of skins and scales of blues and greens. Usually coming to him in dreams, but it was getting harder and harder to put faces to them. Dowan knew they were very important and dear to him, but he just couldn't remember... it would be right there. Staring him in the face when he's dreaming, but the moment he wakes, it's gone. All he's left with is this feeling of loss and sadness. He knew he missed seeing them. But he couldn't really say who they were.

Mama never really understood. She kept saying it was just the way the world is. Everyone looses everyone. The People were being shoved out of more and more of their land. He felt like he was loosing more than just a place to call home. He felt like he was loosing more of himself the older he gets. Many things were being taken from the People. Like, the lake he went to since he was able to walk. Seven years spent playing there with his friends and now they're not allowed in it anymore.

He missed being in water. Bath time was his favorite now, but it never lasted long enough. The round metal wash tub never deep enough. There was a large wide well that they were allowed to use close to the white settlement, but he heard it was going to be filled in so a better one could be made further outside of the town for the People. Mama didn't look convinced, but still let him swim in the old one along with all of the other kids before it got filled up.

He hadn't been anywhere near deep water for years, and now he was ready to really swim. But his mama insisted that he never went into the deeper end of it where the big kids were. He was a natural at swimming and tried to show off his skills, but, his mama would chide him on being reckless and pull him back to the shallow end.

When Dowan was eleven years old when there was a fight that was going on outside. Loud angry voices that echoed everywhere. His mama was ticked off at the arguments that almost never stop. The whites coming more often and ordering the People to do this or that or else. She muttered to herself about the white General being a jackass as she set up the table and was just about to call him over to eat when a loud bang rang through the air from outside their home. A hole punched through the thick canvas walls, and then several more followed after in a haphazard line leading to the next home. A scream rang out into the night outside along with heavy thumping boots running away.

Dowan fell over onto his side, pain slicing up through his back in white hot waves. He screamed out for Mama. He couldn't move his legs at all and he felt his body quickly grow numb. His mama was at his side in seconds, cradling him in her lap as she cried out for help, for someone to go out and fetch the doctor from town. Pushing some cloth into the hole in his back to stop the bleeding. Dowan didn't feel much pain after just a few minutes and said, "It's ok, Mama. It doesn't even hurt now."

Dowan gasped for breath and tried to smile at her to make her feel better but he couldn't feel his head anymore. Everything fading away. He died in her arms.

A little over a decade had passed since this pull started up again, and Sam is now three times the size he'd been starting out. His growth spurt drastically slowing down now that he's roughly 14 feet long. That pull had become a constant in these years. So reliable and a comfort that when it vanished again, he felt it like a sledgehammer to his chest. The loss of it was great and he went into a grief filled rage at it's absence. Destroying the cave he'd called home for the last few years. Smashing it to rubble with his tail and fists. He thought he'd have at least that one thing to stay by his side. Reminded of other things he'd lost.

Sam didn't know why he felt so distraught over loosing that pull. It felt like he'd lost a part of himself. He dreamed of his family again. Having nearly forgotten what they looked like. Dean's face was still clearer than his parents. His voice in Sam's head when he's debating with himself. Dean's absence felt harder to bear now that the pull is gone. Like he was leaving Sam alone all over again.

The same nightmares playing out. Ones Sam thought he was over and done with long ago. It was a few weeks before he got back into his normal routines again. Searching for other Merpeople, the floating things, and, killing as many sharks as he can along the way.

When the pull happens again it's only a few months later. Sam wasn't expecting it so soon and was so surprised that he barely got a fix on it's new location before it suddenly stopped again. He was too confused at what that all meant. The other two times, it was nine months later.

He was deep in a trench at the time and had no way of telling where the sun was to get a good idea where the pull had been. He forced himself not to think too hard on it and went back to his hunt. That giant squid stole his lunch and he wasn't going to let that crime slide.

Dean had learned a lot about all kinds of humans and the dry world in general from his 11 year long life before. Enough to know that this time around, he was definitively NOT a human. He was in fact, something small and furry, and that the thing that was swooping down on him wasn't his mother, but, a large brown owl. He squeaked out a curse he'd remembered hearing the whites say in the last life, since he wasn't in this one long enough to learn the new language, let alone its curses. The talons came down sharp and fast. 'Son of a Bit -!'

Nine months later and there's that pull again. Sam grinned to himself at the familiar feeling of it. How it was on time this time around. He'd grown to miss it. This time, the pull was closer to where the sun sets. He slept good that night and in the morning decided to head off in that rough direction for a few days before eventually changing his mind. Nothing much to look at that way anyway, and food was getting a little scarce. He turned north for better hunting grounds.

Dean was born and raised into a fairly wealthy family that had owned a small business that specialized in nice horse carriages for small towns in the Michigan territory which had been Illinois territory just a few years ago. The maps were changing rapidly as the Americans headed west, gobbling up land faster than they can put a name to it.

Dean's young heart hurt whenever he heard of the displaced injuns, but couldn't explain why he sometimes felt more connected to them than his own family. Eventually growing used to the way things were, and adapting along with everyone else as things changed around them.

A few towns were established that grew to accommodate the many families that went west to stake their claims. Needing a place to buy supplies and trade goods. Dean's family just happened to specialize in horse buggies and stagecoaches, which were always needed and wanted, and were chomping at the bit to get a branch of their business established in the new territory.

Dean didn't care for the business end of the trade much. More interested in constructing, and figuring up new designs. Learning everything there was to know from his older family members and any old timer willing to stretch their jowls at him. Dean was a quick study, and soaked up the wisdom they passed down. He left the paperwork and letters to his older sisters, and took on the harder physical tasks of breaking in the wild mustangs. Dean loved getting out and followed his uncles when they went finding good lumber from the mills and even the local woods, for the latest carriage designs.

He also love riding their horses around to give them exercise and to see the wild lands around the growing city before it's all turned to farmland.

Each carriage had to be measured for the different breeds people may own, so they had a dozen of the more common breeds in the stable. Dean had the idea of a room to show off their best buggies, carriages, and stagecoaches, and was thrilled his family went with the idea. He liked painting the outsides black when they were done being constructed. Spending hours making sure the paint didn't drip and held a nice glossy shine to it.

Modest yet pretty little things that the average homestead could purchase and not break the bank. Each one was custom built and it was Dean's job to go out and find the best wood from a nearby forest for the seats. It had to be hardwood and his dad had a penchant for knotholes and 'character' in the wood.

Dean spent many days chopping down promising looking trees and splitting them lengthwise to see what secrets they held within. He had rigged up an old grain mill to sand the rough hewn lumber into a smoother finish as a quick and dirty way of prepping the wood. There was no sense spending hours getting it into the right thickness and size if the wood grain or knots didn't look appealing enough.

After decades, Dean could just about look at a standing tree and know what it would look like on the inside, and his skills expanded into other artistic fields. His friends told their friends about his talent and soon he was hired by a fair number of people to find the best lumber for their projects.

The territory had changed names two more times until it was finally named as the state of Wisconsin in 1846, and just days later, after the celebrations had died down, Dean's father passed away. The business was left to his uncle who let it slide into obscurity.

Dean insisted his sisters take over before their name was tarnished any more, since they were basically running it anyway, and they quickly agreed. It bounced back almost immediately once word spread that the old owner was cut out. They only needed Dean's good name on the papers because having a woman run business was just out of the question. He kept publicly praising his siblings for their many skills and knowledge, but some people were adamant that they'd rather have a man in charge than woman.

Dean made appearances when he had to, and helped where he could, but, his older sisters had it taken care of and he was so very proud of them. Spreading the seeds of change whenever he could to point out that the womenfolk were harder working than some menfolk and that they deserved equal respect.

Dean retired at 50 to live comfortably in the budding town of Janesville.

He met a lovely widower who he could talk to, and married her a few years later. Dean and Cassondra never had their own children, but their small house was a good place for the local children to play after school, before the coal mines switched shifts. Dean likes kids and they helped fill the void his wife said she felt sometimes.

Dean could feel his years adding up and wanted to explore the world, but, arthritis hit him hard when he was in his late 70's. He settled for looking at the world outside his sitting room window. Listening to the youngsters play in the downstairs sitting room. Cassondra acting the part of grandmother to anyone who walked in the door.

Dean would smoke his cigars with Robert on the front porch whenever the wily upstart would come by for more of Dean's ideas. Neither Dean nor Robert put a name to it, but they both knew that the kid was his apprentice of sorts.

Robert told the old man that he should really take a trip into town and see what the latest craze was. Dean reluctantly said yes, his curiosity getting the better of him. He was not disappointed.

Dean shook his head pleasantly at the notion of horseless buggies that were all the talk in the big city. He'd seen a demonstration of one of them there. Fascinated by the steam powered engine and that sleek black paint. Overall, it resembled a normal fancy carriage, but with a larger front compartment for the steam engine. He wondered if they will ever improve on the old reliable carriage design. Coming up with a couple ideas for them for fun. Drawing them up for his kin that were still making the buggies back home. Insisting in his letters to try and switch gears and work with the closest manufacturer of the horseless carriages. The future is there. He can feel it. It's not a passing craze like his wife Cassondra said.

Dean missed riding the horses in his younger years, but couldn't deny the allure of having a motorized buggy. Betting that they could eventually go faster than even his prize horses, getting up to 40 or even 50 miles per hour. What a ride that would be! He spent hours working fervently on the designs, writing notes and ideas all down on paper. Instructions for Robert to build his mechanical opus.

His medicine bottle was forgotten in the parlor in his haste to get everything written down.

Dean died at 87 in his sleep with a smile on his face. Knowing that the future looked bright.